


Tell Me You Deserve It

by sparxwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Biting, Bruises, Collars, Dominance, Dominant/Top Sam, M/M, Sabriel - Freeform, Spanking, Spreader Bars, Submissive/Bottom Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 04:38:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/694250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Gabriel needs to be reminded that he's loved, and wanted, and cherished. Just, because it's him and Sam, they don't exactly do it with flowers and candlelit dinners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me You Deserve It

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: Oops I Got Angst In My BDSM Porn Again
> 
> Written for dreadelion/dreadfuldicks over on tumblr
> 
> Inspired by an ask on the latter blog - “I can’t be the only one wanting someone fucking doggy-style Gabriel to the mattress. Maybe with some bondage. Just stripping Gabe casually from all his Grace and making him forget his name. Maybe something about brainwashing him to believe that he is worthy.”

“Can I have my collar tonight?” asks Gabriel, quietly, from where he’s knelt on the bed. On elbows and knees, back a long sloping line angled down towards his head, arms stretched out on front of him, eyes fixed on the cream sheets of the motel room. As always, when they’re about to start, his voice is respectful, calm with an undertone of excitement – but missing the usual teasing edge to it, the usual humour and goading.

That, along with the request itself, sets alarm bells ringing in Sam’s head. He always puts Gabriel’s collar on before a session,  _always_ , and the archangel only asks for it when he’s anxious; Sam’s not even  sure if Gabriel realises he does it, but a request for the collar seems to be Gabriel’s equivalent of reaching for a safety blanket. “Of course,” he says calmly, fishing it out of the spare bag he gets Gabriel to snap up for them, grabbing the leather cuffs and collar for Grace-binding and, after a little thought, a spreader bar. And then, casually, as if he’s dropping it into the conversation as a genuine question, “What d’you think about not coming tonight?”

Gabriel makes a soft, appreciative noise, back arching like a spoiled cat into the fine touch of fingers Sam runs up it, depositing his armful of gear onto the bed. “Oh,  _please_.”  
“Well, tough.” That’s the last thing Gabriel needs, if he’s in a mood like this, more punishment – the general rule is, if Gabriel won’t ask for anything but will take anything you want to give him, then it’s not okay to play with him. It’s taken Sam a couple of gut-wrenching, heart-stopping disasters mid-play to figure this rule out, and he sticks to it religiously now. “Because you’re going to.”

He fluffs up Gabriel’s hair as he reaches up to clasp the collar around Gabriel’s throat – soft brown leather, heavy, furred with matching brown on the inside, the buckle and three D-rings made of gold – and the archangel leans away from the action with a small, irritated, “huh.” Sam breathes out a sigh of relief, cinching the collar tight-but-not-too-tight, and runs his hands through the hair, smoothing it down as an apology. If Gabriel’s still himself enough to get irritated by that, then they’re fine for tonight. Not that they won’t be talking about this later, though, because Sam is  _done_  letting Gabriel wriggle his way out of actually talking.

The cuffs go on next, brown and furred like the collar, and Gabriel hisses in a breath as the sigils flare gold when the last buckle is tightened. His back arches, stomach dipping low to the bed with a soft exhale, fighting against the instinctive rush of anxiety and  _constriction_  that comes with the first instant of his Grace being cut off. Sam eases him through it, stroking his shoulders gently and playing with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and when Gabriel finally relaxes into the touch, muscles unbunching, he pets the archangel’s head with a murmur of, “Good boy.”

Gabriel can’t help preening at that a little, a small shiver running through him. They’ve been at this a while now, but he’s still not lost that small twist of heat and excitement in his stomach every time Sam praises him – and Sam’s sparing with his praise, only using it when Gabriel’s actually done something good, so it hasn’t lost its meaning. He stays still, fighting the urge to fidget impatiently as Sam fastens chain between his cuffs, looping it through the slats of the headboard to hold him in place, and nestles his ankles in the cuffs attached to the simple steel spreader bar. He knows that if he moves, shows any sign of impatience or need, Sam will only drag the teasing out longer.

It’s an easy position, on elbows and knees on the bed, ankles and legs held wide apart and arms stretched out in front of him; not necessarily the most comfortable one ever, but a lot more comfortable and less taxing on the muscles than some of the ones Sam’s contorted him into before. After a second of minute shifting to get used to it and find a comfortable position, he relaxes into it, letting his weight rest easily on the bed and his eyes slip to half-closed – until, that is, Sam’s weight presses down on top of him, nearly sending him sprawling to the floor.

At some point in the proceedings, Sam’s managed to strip without Gabriel noticing. Not that he’s complaining; the feel of skin against bare skin is a shock, Sam’s chest pressed tight to his back, arms against his arms, groin against his buttocks, but not an unpleasant one. The warmth seeps into his skin, makes him shiver a little, and Sam smiles indulgently. “What do you want?” he asks, petting Gabriel’s hair lightly, breath hot against the shell of the archangel’s ear as he grazes his teeth over it.

He can almost  _feel_  Gabriel’s confusion, wondering why he’s not drawing it out like he usually does, making Gabriel scream and beg and thrash before he’s done with him – but that’s not for tonight. Gabriel doesn’t need pushing and punishing tonight. Tonight, he needs to be reminded that he is loved, and  _why._

“You,” gasps Gabriel instantly, unable to help from rolling his shoulders against the solidity of Sam a little, reminding himself that he’s still there,  _still there_. “You, please.” Sam doesn’t hold with titles, with  _Sir_ or  _Master_  – the first reminds him too much of his father, and the second makes him laugh. Sometimes Gabriel wishes he did, calls him  _Master_  in the privacy of his own head, but in the end he thinks it’s for the best. There have been too many people with titles putting themselves above him in his life so far, and maybe Sam knows that.

“What part of me?” asks Sam idly, one hand dropping to trace patterns on Gabriel’s hip, the other winding its way into his hair and tugging a little. Gabriel’s eyes roll back into his head, and a noise something like a whimper, or maybe a moan, escapes his mouth. Sam sighs, tugging harder to bring the archangel back to reality. “ _What part of me, Gabriel_.”

Gabriel  _does_  whimper this time, trying to pull himself together a little – it’s so easy to just drift off like this, get lost in his own head with the weight and warmth and promise of another person, of  _home_  above him, to just let it all go too soon and come crashing down. “Uh, anything,” he manages, licking his lips. “Any part of you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

“You’re lying,” says Sam idly, tugging on his hair again, hard enough to make Gabriel wince along with his moan – he swears that Sam can  _smell_  the lies on him, sometimes, like a bloodhound. “Don’t make me ask again, Gabriel, or I’ll be annoyed.”  
“Not lying,” protests Gabriel, even though he is; and some part of him that he tries to keep pushed down and appeased most of the time rises up, hissing, _yes, annoy him, make him angry, make him hurt you, hit you ‘til you bleed_.

It’s not a nice part of himself.

But Sam does something worse than hitting him, worse than any of the many, inventive (and usually, if Gabriel’s brutally honest with himself, damn well _arousing_ ) punishments he’s thought up before.

He simply moves.

Gabriel whimpers when the heat disappears, when the weight and warmth on his back stops anchoring him and he can’t feel Sam anywhere, can’t find a wide enough range of movement to turn and look at him, has no way of knowing whether Sam’s even still there or not. It’s not a happy whimper. It’s not an oh-yes-fuck-more-please whimper. It’s a noise of quiet, lost fear, and the part of his mind that’s still watching on a detached basis marvels at how fast Sam’s broken him down, sent him rolling down the slippery slope to subspace. “Sam,” he manages, twisting a little in his binding, trying to buck his hips up in the hope of finding skin or clothes or  _anything_. “Sam, c’mon, don’t be like this, fuck, _Sam-_ ”

And then Sam’s back, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip before the panic can set in, running gentling hands down his sides and shushing soothingly into his ear for a long moment until the rabbit-fast beat of Gabriel’s heart has slowed a little. “Shush, shush,” he murmurs, biting at the juncture where Gabriel’s neck meets his jaw, hard enough to leave little red teeth marks and possibly a pale bruise. “Now. What part of me do you want?”

“Your cock,” blurts Gabriel, which is not the complete truth, but isn’t a lie either – he wants Sam inside him  _yesterday_ , needs Sam inside him, and he’ll say pretty much anything at this point to stop Sam from moving away again and leaving him on his own. “Please, please, need your cock.”

Well. Anything other than the truth.

Sam lets out a low noise in his ear, somewhere between a hum and a growl. He’s clearly not satisfied with the answer, but lets it slide, running soothing fingers across Gabriel’s scalp, slipping a hand between their bodies to smooth fingers over the small of his back, teasing at the spot where spine became ass. “Do you deserve that, Gabriel?” he asks quietly, nipping lightly across the archangel’s jaw, one finger hooked absently in the D-ring at the back of Gabriel’s collar. He’s been thinking about getting a leash, matching the collar, giving him something to pull on when Gabriel’s on his knees and underneath him like this, but that’s a conversation for another time.

“No,” mumbles Gabriel, almost dreamily, shaking his head and arching his neck into the press of the collar. He doesn’t say it because he thinks Sam wants to hear it; he says it because it’s the truth, and Sam will accept nothing less. He’s still not sure how he ended up with someone like Sam, after the mistakes he’s made, after the pain and suffering and damage he’s caused to countless people he should have been protecting… but then, Sam’s life isn’t exactly mistake-free, so maybe they work together, in an odd way.

Frowning, Sam tugs sharply on the collar, rubbing a thumb at the base of his spine when Gabriel chokes a little. “Wrong answer.” He shifts a little, and for a terrifying moment Gabriel thinks he’s moving away again, that this is his punishment for answering wrongly (albeit truthfully), and he freezes, panic pulling him out of his headspace a little – but the fingers stay curled around the ring in his collar, pulling it comfortingly tight against his throat, and when slick fingers press against his taint, sliding up between his cheeks to ghost lightly over his hole, he relaxes a little with a sigh. Sam isn’t going anywhere.

“Good boy,” murmurs Sam again, not really doing anything, just kneeling behind Gabriel and stroking over the small furl of muscle with lube-slick fingers, waiting for the lines of tension he can see in Gabriel’s shoulders to disappear again.

Usually, Gabriel falls so easily into his headspace – a little biting, some hair-pulling and dirty talk, and he’s gone. Having restraints usually only speeds up the process. He seems to find them comforting, for whatever reason, and Sam’s not going to complain. For him to be pulling himself out of it so often, freezing up so easily, means he must be wound tighter than Sam thought. He would be more worried, especially about his mental capacity to cope with playing right now, except Gabriel’s making efforts to relax again; he obviously  _wants_  to let go and find that place where he can float so easily, leaving everything to Sam, just letting go.

And if that’s what he needs right now, Sam’s not going to say no. Talking can – and  _will_  – come after, but for now Gabriel needs to be broken down, piece by piece.

As soon as there’s enough looseness and slump to Gabriel’s shoulders (which he checks, letting go of the collar to run fingers across the archangel’s back, digging fingers into the softness on either side of his spine and smiling as he groans), Sam slips one finger inside him, as far as he can push. Technically, he could get Gabriel to stretch and lube himself before these sessions, either by hand or with angel mojo, but most of the time he likes doing it like this.

“Why do you deserve my cock, Gabriel?” he asks evenly. It’s a struggle to keep his voice flat and calm when he’s sliding a finger slowly in and out of an archangel’s ass, but he’s had a lot of practice at it.  
“Don’t know!” says Gabriel, the end cutting off in a gasp as Sam’s free hand comes up from resting on his hip to twine in his hair, dragging his head back sharply and making his spine curve deliciously.  
“Wrong answer again.”

He pushes another finger inside, though, fucking Gabriel with steady pushes and smiling as the archangel grinds himself back against them, whimpering a little when they graze across his prostate. “Uh, uh, oh, because- because you want to fuck me,” he tries again, legs trembling a little now – the spreader bar’s actually helping him keep his legs open and in a position that stops him from collapsing to the bed.

“No, wrong again.” Sam kisses the knob of his spine, just below where the collar rests, before sinking his teeth into the skin there nearly hard enough to break it. Gabriel cries out, eyes rolling up into his head and entire body trembling. “I do want to fuck you, though, and I will. Soon.”

Gabriel nearly mewls at the promise, panting a little when Sam adds a third finger. Despite himself, despite the urge to keep teasing and frustrating Gabriel, he can’t help thrusting them a little harder, scissoring and pressing relentlessly against the spot he knows drives Gabriel crazy. There’s something about watching an  _archangel_  come apart beneath him that still, after all this time, makes him lose just a little of his self-control.

“Because-” And Gabriel’s outright gasping now, front half nearly slumped on the bed and hips only still raised because he pushes back against every drag of fingers inside of him, needing  _more_ , needing them deeper, harder,  _anything_. The bites along his jaw and neck and spine are throbbing in time to his heartbeat, muscles shaking a little – in need, in anticipation, in concentration. His skin feels too tight, too hot, and there’s dampness around his forehead and scalp that he knows will turn to trickles of sweat when Sam starts fucking him in earnest. “Because I’ve been good?” It’s more of a question than an answer, a hopeful plea, and when Sam pulls his fingers away, tucks a fourth under the other three, and pushes them right back in, slick and shiny with yet more lube, Gabriel lets out a muffled sob against the mattress.

“Because you  _are_  good,” says Sam firmly, finally taking pity on him. He’s not thrusting any more, despite Gabriel’s desperate attempts to hump back against his fingers, despite the way his dick’s throbbing between his legs and his brain is screaming  _just make him come already_. He just kneels there, stretching and probing, stroking against Gabriel’s walls and smiling. “Can you say that for me, Gabriel? Say ‘I am a good boy for Sam’. Go on.”

Gabriel lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to let his hips drop so he can grind his leaking cock against the bed sheets – he knows Sam won’t like that, and the idea of Sam leaving now, of making him stay like this… he sobs quietly. “I- I’ve been a good boy for Sam,” he whimpers. “Please, Sam,  _please-_ ”

The slap, when it comes, is unexpected; Gabriel yelps, entire body jolting forward at the sudden heat and lube-dampness on his ass when Sam hits him with an open hand. “No!” snaps Sam, voice sharp and dangerous. “That’s not what I said, was it, Gabriel? Come on, I know you can do this. Say it.”

Today isn’t supposed to be about pushing Gabriel, testing his limits – he’s too keyed up and fragile for that, and as much as Sam wants to break him down, he doesn’t want to do it like  _that_  – but he needs Gabriel to say this. To admit this to himself.

“I…” Gabriel fumbles to remember the words, fighting through the fog of a mind already rising to soar somewhere above his body, somewhere beyond true consciousness into a place where physical sensation overrules everything else. “I- am a good boy. For Sam.” The words are slurred a little, shaky and jolted, punctuated by a gasp in the middle when Sam pushes his fingers back into the no longer tightly clenched ring of muscle that is Gabriel’s hole, but they’re there.

Sam nods his approval. “Yes. Good boy.” He rewards Gabriel with a soft kiss against his hip, and then a bite there, sucking hard for a few long moments until he’s sure the mark will bruise. He doesn’t ask Gabriel to not heal it – the archangel already knows not to make the marks he gets when they do this vanish, and seems to wear them with an odd sort of pride.

“M’a- good boy,” repeats Gabriel, sounding a little dazed, and Sam strokes fingers through his hair with an indulgent smile.  
“Yes, you are,” he murmurs, bending over Gabriel and thrusting his fingers in hard and suddenly enough to make him cry out. “And because you’re a good boy…?”

It takes Gabriel a moment to work out what he’s saying, because Sam’s fingers are jammed right up against his prostate and he’s grinding himself back against them with a single-minded need to come, right now, consequences be damned. When the words finally filter through, they take another moment to process, before he manages, “Your cock?” in a gasping, hopeful voice. “Please, please, need you, please, want it, fuck Sammy, need it so badly, want your dick inside me-”

“Shh.” Sam smiles at his enthusiasm, slipping his fingers out and reaching for the lube again. “I promised you, didn’t I?” It takes a matter of moments to slick up his cock, resisting the urge to just stroke himself until he comes over Gabriel’s prettily gaping hole. “Tell me you deserve it.”

“I- deserve your cock,” mumbled Gabriel into the bed sheets, and Sam growls out his approval, grabbing a handful of the archangel’s hair with a hand that’s damp with lube. Gabriel will complain about that later, Sam knows, but right now he just arches his back and damn near wails as Sam thrusts into him, dragging his shoulders up off the bed with the hand in his hair.

For a moment, there’s stillness, silence, only Gabriel’s trembling and Sam’s harsh breathing filling the silence as he stays still, waiting for the twitching of Gabriel’s hole around him and the urge to come there and then to pass.

Then he starts thrusting again, short, sharp, almost violent motions of his hips as he slams into Gabriel again and again, loving how the archangel’s whole body bounces forwards with every thrust, how his thighs and arms shake and his cock sways where it’s curved and hard beneath his belly. “Again,” he rasps, tugging harder on Gabriel’s hair and wringing a cry from him as he thrusts in desperately, his other hand digging tight enough to bruise into Gabriel’s hip. “Tell me again.”

“I- I- deserve your cock!” gasps out Gabriel, words almost a yelp, eyes hazy and blissed-out. His body’s almost completely relaxed, soft and pliable in Sam’s grip, as the last of the tension and anxiety in his muscles slips away. “I deserve it, please,  _Sam-_ ”

His name’s a breath, a gasp, a prayer and a blessing at the same time, and Sam hisses in victory, pushing Gabriel’s head down until his cheek’s pressed against the pillow, the sweat trickling down the archangel’s forehead dampening the fabric there. “You deserve me. Say it, Gabriel. Say it!”

“Deserve you, need you Sam, oh fuck, oh  _fuck_ …” Sam’s not sure Gabriel’s even conscious of what he’s saying any more, breath coming in whimpered drags, body rocking back and forth in time to Sam’s punishing thrusts. His hands are curled tight against the pillow where they’re held in place by the cuffs, mouth half-open, cock and balls damp with precome and the lube that’s dripping out of him and down his taint with every thrust, and he’s  _beautiful_.

Even after all this time, it still takes Sam’s breath away every time he sees Gabriel’s let go like this.

He’s close, he can feel it, heat twisting in the pit of his stomach and racing along his ribs, but he’s determined that Gabriel will come first. “I love you, you hear?” he growls, the words nearly an order as he lets go of Gabriel’s hair – beautifully mussed, sticky with lube and sweat and twisted into all sorts of interesting shapes where Sam’s hand has been clenched in it – to reach under his swaying hips and curl fingers around his hot, heavy cock. It feels natural, familiar in Sam’s hand, and he strokes it with quick, almost teasing strokes, little twist of the wrist at the end like he know Gabriel loves, the motions near-automatic after how many times he’s done this. “I love you, and you deserve this, all of this, every fucking inch of it, okay? Gabriel?”

“Yes,” mumbles Gabriel, and if he wasn’t floating and open and broken down like this he wouldn’t say it, would never even let himself think it, but right now Sam is Master, and what he says goes. “Yes, deserve it. Deserve you. Let me come. Please let me. Let me. Please. Sam. Please. Come. Need to.” His words fracture, gasped and quiet and needy, and Sam grins, kisses his shoulder blade and pounds into him, breathing hard.

“Go on then. That’s it. Come, Gabriel.”

The order’s what does it, what breaks him, takes him over the edge. He comes with a noise that’s not quite a cry and not quite a groan, entire body going limp in Sam’s hands as his cock throbs and spurts white over the bed sheets. Sam strokes him through it, ignoring the come that drips down over his knuckles when Gabriel’s spent cock twitches a little in his hand, luxuriating in the convulsive little shivers of Gabriel’s body beneath him and the way his hole clenches and relaxes, dripping little pearls of lube with every shudder.

He’d pulled out before Gabriel came. Usually, he keeps fucking the archangel through it, comes himself from the way Gabriel tightens and clenches around him and from the little noises Gabriel makes, but not this time. There’s something else he needs to do first.

When Gabriel finally stops shuddering – although he’s still moaning, little punched-out noises that make the tightness in Sam’s balls near unbearable – Sam lets go of him, and he collapses gratefully against the bed, loose and floating, pleasure in every line of his body. He does little more than twitch when Sam unstraps the spreader bar from around his ankles, placing the contraption carefully on the ground next to the bed before kneeling next to Gabriel.

“You did well,” he says quietly, smiling at the archangel and rubbing a thumb across his cheekbones. Gabriel whimpers a little in response, tilting his head sideways to lick at Sam’s fingers, and humming contentedly when Sam offers him the hand covered in his own spunk to lick. His tongue’s soft, quick despite his lethargy, and tickles. “You were a good boy. A very good boy, you understand?” He’s never sure how much Gabriel processes, when he’s like this, but he says these things anyway, in the hope that even if they don’t register on a conscious level, they sink in on an unconscious one.

They sit there in silence until Gabriel’s cleaned his hand entirely, sucking absently on the tip of his thumb like it’s the best present Sam could have given him. Sam’s still achingly hard, the twisting heat in his stomach almost uncomfortable in its strength, but this is not about him; this is about Gabriel, and what Gabriel needs right now. Sam’s wants can come after that. “But,” he adds, pressing his thumb against Gabriel’s lip hard enough to make him look up. “You did something bad, didn’t you?”

Gabriel whimpers.

“Sam,” he mumbles, chasing Sam’s thumb with his lips and dragging his crotch lazily against the sheets that are already wet with his come. He’s too deep into it to feel proper worry, but there’s something in Sam’s tone of voice that sets off _displeased_  alarm bells in his head, and it makes him anxious, in a sleepy sort of way. He just wants to curl up and rest, Sam’s thumb in his mouth and the satisfying ache in his ass, wants to give in to the heaviness dragging at his limbs.

“Gabriel, listen to me. Do you know what you did wrong?” asks Sam again, pressing against Gabriel’s lip a little harder, enough to make it push against his teeth, and Gabriel whines.  
“Sam,” he says again, voice a little clearer. “Sorry, sorry, please.”

“You didn’t talk to me, did you?” It feels a little like talking to a child, when Gabriel’s like this, patient and simple and a lot of effort. “A while back, I told you that if you were unhappy, or hurting, or you needed this-” His hand skips briefly from Gabriel’s lips to rub at the collar around his neck. “-that you would come and talk to me. And you promised.”

“Yeah,” agrees Gabriel, licking his lips. “Yeah.”  
At least he’s aware of that much. “And you’re unhappy at the moment. Shh.” Sam presses his thumb into Gabriel’s mouth again to cut off the flow of words he can see building, not wanting to pull Gabriel out from wherever he goes inside his head when they do this. “Shh, I don’t need you to tell me about it. Not right now. But you should have told me before.

Gabriel sighs, tilting his head back a little to bare his neck, the line of it broken by the thick weight of leather buckled around it. “Sorry Sam,” he whispers, licking his lips, a little flicker of  _something_  in his eyes that Sam doesn’t like. Fear, unhappiness, self-loathing… whatever it is, he doesn’t want it there.

“Do you want me to get rid of the bad?” he asks, petting Gabriel’s tongue with the very tip of his thumb. “Would you like that? And then you can have my come. Hmm?”  
“Please,” whines Gabriel around the digit still in his mouth, “please Sammy. Need.”

That’s the answer he’d hoped for.

“Come here,” he murmurs, pulling Gabriel onto his lap – still face-down on the bed – and running gentle hands over the backs and insides of his thighs, the curve of his ass, making Gabriel twitch a little. Ordinarily, he’d use a crop or a paddle for this, to make brighter, longer-lasting marks, but right now Gabriel needs something personal. So, instead of reaching for the bag across the room, he pats Gabriel’s thigh before raising his hand. “Count them,” he orders, before bringing his hand down, hard.

“One. T-two. Th- four. Five!” Gabriel’s voice is cracked, gasping, eyes heavy-lidded and body trembling in Sam’s lap. Compared to some of the stuff him and Sam have played with before, Sam’s hand isn’t much; it’s almost relaxing, the regular burst of pain, in a new location with every stroke. He relaxes into it, slumped and boneless across Sam’s lap, and the numbers he’s supposed to be counting turn into soft noises of pleasure-pain.

Sam doesn’t rebuke him for his disobedience, just keeps going, until his palm hurts and Gabriel’s ass is bright red and warm to the touch. “There,” he murmurs, running gentle fingers over it in approval, and Gabriel whimpers, twitching away from the touch a little. “You look so pretty like this, you know.” Carefully, carefully, not wanting to knock the bright, vague look out of Gabriel’s eyes again, he manoeuvres the archangel off his lap and onto the middle of the bed.

Almost as soon as Sam lets go, Gabriel starts whining, low in his throat, back arching a little where he’s limp and face-down on the bed. “Shh, shh,” soothes Sam, running a hand through Gabriel’s hair as he kneels between the archangel’s legs again. “I’m still here.” His other hand drops to his cock, hard and aching against his stomach, still slippery with lube and precome from fucking Gabriel.

It doesn’t take more than a couple of strokes, hand wrapped almost too tightly around his dick and breath hissing between clenched teeth, before he’s coming over Gabriel’s ass, white come on reddened skin. Sam groans, head tilted back as his orgasm shudders through him, twisting his stomach and curling around his spine. Beneath him, Gabriel makes a soft noise that might be a breathless moan.

They stay like that for a while, Sam sat between Gabriel’s legs and catching his breath, one hand almost absently rubbing his come across the red curve of the archangel’s ass, and Gabriel lying in front of him and almost on the edge of sleep, huffing out the occasional contented breath.

Eventually, though, Sam heaves himself off the bed and stretches, back arching and eyes slipping closed for a moment. “Bath time,” he says quietly, petting Gabriel’s hair briefly – neither of them caring about the mess of come and lube across his palm that gets smeared there – before unchaining Gabriel’s hands. He loosens the buckles on the collar and cuffs, but doesn’t undo them. They’re fairly waterproof, and any damage done from getting them wet can be repaired by Gabriel later. Getting his Grace back tends to snap Gabriel right back out of his headspace, and Sam’s learned from experience that that’s not much fun for either of them.

It’s an easy thing to scoop Gabriel up into his arms – the archangel’s not light, but he’s not heavy compared to some of the other bodies (living and dead) Sam’s had to heft around – and cradle him close against his chest. Gabriel smiles up at him with soft, unfocused eyes, squirming a little in his arms when Sam’s forearm presses against his sore backside, and leans his head against Sam’s chest. “Good boy,” says Sam, voice heartfelt and gentle, and Gabriel’s eyes slip closed as his smile widens.

Sam holds Gabriel as the bath fills, stroking his hair gently and murmuring little nothings to him as he tests the heat of the water. He washes Gabriel quickly, but not roughly, hands gentle as he soaps the sweat off Gabriel’s body and shampoos the mess from his hair.

“M’sorry,” says Gabriel, as Sam’s drying him off, carefully checking his wrists and neck under the collars and cuff for any chaffing, making sure his ankles and ass weren’t hurt past some slight reddening. “Shoulda-”  
“Quiet,” says Sam easily, voice lacking the bite of an order as he reaches for the antiseptic he’s taken from his bag whilst Gabriel was in the bath. The bite on the back of the angel’s neck is deep, and has broken the skin in some places where his teeth had pressed the flesh hard against bone. He knows, technically, that Gabriel doesn’t need the disinfectant, the same as he doesn’t need the arnica cream Sam will put on it after, but it’s a sort of ritual for them both. It calms Gabriel, and gives Sam an odd peace of mind in a way he can’t really explain.

“But I…” Gabriel’s still struggling despite Sam’s attempts to relax him, trying to think too hard and worry when what he needs is to let go of things for a while. That was the whole point of the session, and Sam isn’t going to let his work go to waste that easily.  
“It’s okay,” he says softly, thumb working in circles to rub cream over the bite mark on his neck, and the deepest of the ones on his jaw. “It’s okay, you should have, but we’ll talk about it in the morning. Not now.”

And then, at last, Gabriel relaxes, nodding as he slumps against Sam’s chest and finally allows himself to feel safe. Sam’s there, Sam has forgiven him, and he’s been good – and right now, that’s all that matters.


End file.
